Tuesday, October 2, 2012
Mom, the hair stylist
I'm so sorry, I'm not perfect. I go days without drinking anything other than coffee and I always eat the cereal straight out of the box using only my hands. I wear the same bra for days in a row, sometimes I don't wash my face before bed and other times I call your dad's bag a purse because I know that it annoys him. Do you know what else I'm not perfect at? Cutting your hair. Or any one's hair for that matter, but I'm really bad when it comes to your blond mop.
Really, who put me in charge of a kid? Sometimes I need to smell my underwear to make sure it's clean while other times I've been known to eat chips for an entire meal. I get to work sometimes and realize that I forgot to brush my teeth or put deodorant on that morning. And, when it comes to hair, I just recently stopped going to a place that puts their coupons in the Sunday paper. But you have your dad's widow peak and, as cute as it is, I just want to cut it all off when it gets just a tad bit too long. It's like seeing a stray hair popping out from some one's upper lip and it takes everything in you to not jump on them and rip it out with your bare hands. Did you know that you shouldn't cut a widow's peak straight across because, well, all of the little hairs at the peak end up looking like a five o'clock shadow? No? Well, good. Your hair is blond anyway, so it doesn't look too silly.
I promise to never, ever take a scissors to your head once you start being able to tell me no. Promise. I'll probably still be listening to Kanye West and singing along when you're in junior high and OMGMOM STOP EMBARRASSING ME. And I'll definitely still be taking a whiff of my undies to make sure they are still clean from time to time. But I won't touch your head with anything that's sharp.